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masterlist | fics! ꩜

“meet me in the woods,” part 1

“meet me in the woods,” part 2

meet me in the woods (part two)

this is part two, as promised! you can find part one here!

if you need a quick recap, here it is: joel miller’s life in jackson is simple — he patrols, helps out with repairs, sometimes hunts. when a young woman is found in the woods nearby, a new duty is added to that list: supervise the strange, almost feral woman.

tags! slowburn. joel miller x younger!reader. two consenting adults. jackson!joel. heavy folklore/horror vibe. weird girl representation. self-indulgent fic. very, very slowburn. mentions of killing/hunting. she/her pronouns for reader.

warning! as always, some things may be inaccurate or incorrect for the sake of story-telling. also, more characters will be mentioned in future parts.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

By the time you return to Jackson, Joel is quick to plop the deer carcass onto the large, mahogany desk in front of Maria, accompanied by the bundle of rabbits. Her eyes widen, pleased with the score.

“Only one buck,” she mumbles. “But nearly six rabbits. Well done, you two.”

Your jaw tightens at the praise. Normally, you’d be eager to receive it, happy to hear that you’ve done well. But all you can feel is a deep sense of sadness, brought on by the feeling of killing in such an unnatural way. The loud, jarring sound of the gunshot echoes through your mind. You grit your teeth, holding your tongue – for now.

You watch Joel shift, dusting his hands off. His brows are furrowed in contemplation.

“We got any bows, Maria?” He inquires roughly, glancing up to meet her gaze.

“Bows? I’m sure there are a few somewhere around here,” she replies, shifting. “May not be as effective as a gun, though. What do you need a bow for?”

“Might be easier to get bucks that way, with a weapon that ain’t so loud,” Joel grunts. “And the lady doesn’t like guns.”

You feel your posture straighten a bit as he speaks. You hadn’t expected Joel, the grumpy old man who you were certain viewed you as nothing more than a burden, to request such a thing on your behalf.

You give him a look – uncertain, but grateful. You hope he can’t see the way your cheeks are dusted over in a subtle, pink flush.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Maria replies, under her breath. She takes a step back, nodding towards Joel. “Help me haul these out back?”

By the time the sun sets that evening, you’re left to explore the small community of Jackson for the first time. The little settlement is more of a commune than anything, where folks line the streets to trade and barter. It’s a bit less frightening than you’d imagined, and for a moment, you find yourself intrigued by the small stores that line the streets.

Your boots crunch the snow beneath you as you walk, your eyes struggling to find a place to focus. There’s a lot of chaos in the street, but your attention is quickly drawn to one small store in particular, where an older woman sits against the side of the building. Her hair, long and silver, is pulled back messily, her expression kind as she hums to herself amidst her work. She’s knitting something, it seems – a long, navy blue scarf.

You recall the way Joel’s face had looked in the woods, his cheeks flushed, brows dusted over with snow. Despite that, he’d still offered you his coat. You were certain he’d been freezing then, but he’d pretended not to mind it, for your sake.

You find yourself approaching her, your feet moving before you can stop them.

“Excuse me,” you mumble, your voice much softer than normal. “Is that a scarf you’re knitting?”

The older woman smiles up at you. She’s wearing a scarf of her own, a dark purple one, wrapped cozily around her neck. Despite the chilly air, she looks warm.

“Certainly is, dear,” she muses, holding the scarf out to you. “And it’s just about finished.”

You shift uncomfortably on your heels, uncertain how to tell this woman that you’d like to obtain her scarf without sounding too rude or needy. You clear your throat, leaning back.

“What do you need for it?” You ask, finally.

The older woman’s expression softens. It’s almost as if she recognizes you – perhaps word about you has traveled quickly through Jackson. You can only imagine what they’ve said. Did you hear that Maria found some wild girl out in the woods? Yeah, brought ‘er in here too. Shame, we didn’t need any more outsiders. Especially not feral ones.

The older woman’s voice suddenly interrupts your thoughts.

“I suppose I already have everything I need, dear,” she replies, fondly. “But I’ll happily accept a trade. Anything you’d like to offer?”

You pause, your face lighting up with realization.

“I have some berries. Raspberries,” you mumble, digging into your pocket to pull out a small, metal case of ripe berries that Joel had given you. “We found ‘em earlier today when we were out hunting, so they’re still good.”

The older woman seems to light up. “Raspberries?” She muses, leaning forward. “That’s lovely. I’ll make jam with those.”

You smile then – the first time you’ve truly smiled since your arrival.

Scarf in hand, you head down the busy gravel road, making the quick trip back to your quarters. Maria had set you up in one of the vacant, back rooms of the settlement’s town hall for the time being, allowing you to adjust to your new home properly.

As you near the front of the large building, you stop in your tracks as you see Joel, standing in front of the large set of doors, hand on his hip. He appears to be deep in conversation with Tommy, his jaw set – but when he notices you, his expression softens. Just enough for you to notice.

You quickly shove the knitted scarf into your large, slightly oversized black coat.

“Hey there, kid,” Tommy muses, waving you over. “Was just lookin’ for ya. Where ya been?”

You pause, hand clutching the scarf that you’ve stuffed into your jacket.

“Exploring,” you mutter, avoiding Joel’s gaze. He knows something’s up. “Why were you looking for me?” You ask, warily.

“Joel said you were real damn good out there in the woods today.” Tommy hums, turning to reach over his shoulder. He digs an old, slightly worn wooden bow from the box of junk on the front porch, before offering it to you.

“Here,” he chimes. “Maria said you were wantin’ one of these.”

Your eyes widen as you see the bow. The grip is bound with something that looks like leather, suitable for maintaining accuracy. It’s not perfect, but it’s handmade, and far better than the loud guns that rattle your body as you fire them. You’re grateful to never have to experience it again.

“Yeah,” you mumble, your gaze flickering from Tommy to Joel. “Thank you. This– This is good.”

As you glance down, examining the bow in your hands, the sounds of Tommy and Joel’s voices blend into the background. You run your finger along the grip, finding familiarity in the sight of the bow’s wooden limbs. It takes you back to a simpler time, when you were younger, learning to hunt with your mother’s old bow.

That had been so long ago, way before the world turned upside down.

Snapping you from your thoughts is Joel’s voice, speaking your name. As you glance up, eyes wide, you’re met with the realization that Tommy has slipped away, leaving only you and Joel standing at the front doors of the town hall. Your hand clutches the bow at your side, and you pray that he doesn’t ask you about the scarf you’d shoved into your dress.

“Wanna tell me what you’re bein’ so secretive about now, doll?” Joel muses.

Shit. You mentally curse yourself.

“No,” you reply, a bit more fiery than you’d intended it to be. “I don’t.”

Joel lets out a chuckle that almost sounds like a scoff. He shakes his head, taking a step closer to you.

“Alright, then,” he muses. “Keep your secrets.”

The air between you is suddenly familiar, warm despite the cold that swirls around you. Joel’s gaze is almost fond, though you refuse to meet his gaze.

God, you hate lying. He’s using that to his advantage.

“Okay,” you huff, digging into your coat. “You win. Here.”

You shove the navy blue, knitted scarf towards him as he holds his hand out, curious about it. He hadn’t been expecting it to be something for him.

“You–” Joel seems at a loss, studying the scarf. “Is this for me?”

“You were cold in the woods,” you mumble, under your breath. “You had a coat and gloves, but you didn’t have a scarf. Your cheeks were all red, and it made me feel bad. Especially ‘cause you gave me your coat.” You admit, hesitantly.

He studies the scarf, glancing down at it. You watch as he turns it over in his hands, like he’s admitting the piece of fabric to memory. His expression is entirely unreadable, his brows furrowed.

Something in his eyes shifts. There’s a subtle affection, a hint of gratitude.

Joel then clears his throat.

“Thoughtful of you.” He mumbles, as if entirely uncertain how to accept a gift like this. He hadn’t anticipated it at all, and he’s unprepared for the whirlwind of emotions it makes him feel. He takes a step forward, clutching the scarf between his fingers.

“Get some rest,” he encourages, his voice rough. “We’ll go back out into the woods tomorrow. Let you try out that bow.”

Before you can say another word, he’s gone, descending the staircase that leads up to the building. You blink as you watch his broad-shouldered figure disappear into the cold, followed by the sound of snow crunching beneath his boots.

You feel a wave of confusion wash over you. You’re entirely unsure how to read a man like Joel, and for a split second, you’re afraid your gift has offended him. You frown, confusion etched across your soft features, realizing you can no longer see him.

He’s gone.

That night, you toss and turn, your mind reeling. You feel utterly hopeless, like any bit of normalcy for you will always be out of reach. You recall the sad look in his eyes, the way he’d grown quiet upon receiving your gift. You curse yourself, feeling like a complete idiot.

When the sun rises, you’re still lying awake, staring up at the ceiling. The night has been far too long, and you’re still left reeling. You hate how much you care, how much he’s starting to affect you.

Then, a knock at the door draws your attention. For a moment, you contemplate answering, questioning whether or not it’s truly worth it. Doesn’t Joel hate you now? Surely you’re overthinking.

As the door slowly opens, its hinges creaking, you draw your knees to your chest.

Joel stands on the other side, his dark, grey hair a bit disheveled. The gentle sunlight streaming in through the window at your bedside illuminates his features, his eyes like pools of dark honey beneath the sun’s rays. He looks prepared for the cold, wearing his thick, brown overcoat. Your breath hitches in realization as you take him in. A wave of relief washes over, one that you can’t entirely explain.

Wrapped loosely around his neck is the navy blue scarf you’d given him.

“C’mon,” he calls, with a sharp jerk of his jaw. “Takin’ you on patrol.”

folks who wanted to be tagged!

@ro-nahime-things

@ptolemaea444

@ezraispunk

@joelmillerswifey

@hollyseb

meet me in the woods

IMPORTANT | part 2 is now up! read it here.

summary: when tommy and maria find a strange young woman in the woods and rescue her, joel is tasked with keeping on eye on her. reader is lowkey kinda feral.

tags! slowburn. joel miller x younger!reader. two consenting adults. jackson!joel. heavy folklore/horror vibe. weird girl representation. self-indulgent fic. very, very slowburn. mentions of killing/hunting. she/her pronouns for reader.

warning! some information may not be accurate and was changed for story purposes. tried to keep it pretty close, though!

ALSO! this will be multiple parts.

if you want a part two, comment & lemme know!

─── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

“You found her? The hell do ya mean, you found ‘er?”

Joel’s voice echoes through the dimly lit room, where Tommy and Maria stand before him. The two synchronously bring their fingers to their lips, a mostly silent gesture accompanied by a quick hissing sound, instructing him to be quiet.

“Quiet,” Maria mumbles, her voice hushed. “We don’t want anyone else knowing where we found her. If word got out…”

“They’d think she’s infected.” Tommy finishes, his voice solemn.

A wave of confusion and uncertainty crosses Joel’s rugged features.

“And you don’t?” He questions, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. The wooden chair beneath him creaks with his weight, slightly worn with age. “Figured you two were more skeptical of outsiders than anyone.”

“I’ve examined her,” Maria reassures, quickly. It’s important to her that Joel knows how well she’s covered her tracks. “I’ve checked her from head to toe. Not a single mark, nor does she show any signs of infection. Dogs couldn’t even sniff anything on her.”

Joel’s brows furrow then, his hands twitching. “Well, that don’t really mean– I mean, Ellie–”

“Joel,” Tommy’s voice cuts through his older brother’s like a knife. “Please. Just hear Maria out.”

Joel’s brows twitch with uncertainty. With a heavy sigh, he leans back. The older man is not opposed to the idea, but skeptical. Both Tommy and Maria seem to be dancing around the point, as if trying to withhold information from him regarding the girl’s origins. Something in his stomach twists, but he ignores it – for now.

“Okay,” Joel sighs, finally. “Why are you tellin’ me all this?”

“Because she’s scared as hell of all of us, Joel,” Maria replies, her jaw set. “Can’t get her to say a word to me or Tommy. We thought maybe you could…”

“No,” Joel interrupts, standing abruptly. He’s desperate to stop this before it goes too far. “No way. You want me to babysit? I’ve got patrol, I’ve gotta hunt. I’ve got duties that don’t involve a little girl.”

Tommy and Maria exchange glances then.

“She’s not exactly…” Tommy responds finally, trailing off. “I mean, she looks older. Twenties, maybe? I dunno, but… the girl knows how to hunt.”

Joel raises a brow then, intrigued. “What?” He mumbles, his voice rough.

“Watched her kill a rabbit with her bare hands. Pounced it on like a damn cougar. You can’t make this shit up.” Tommy mumbles, shaking his head.

Joel’s eyes widen. The image of a young woman, face rounded with youth and innocence, pouncing on a rabbit and killing it with her bare hands like some kind of wild animal – it’s almost unbelievable. Though, considering their circumstances and the state of the world they live in, it isn’t impossible.

“What the hell,” Joel sighs, too tired to argue. “Where is she?”

A knock at the door draws your attention. Sharp, abrupt, and heavy, the knock clearly belongs to an older man, or someone with great strength, you assess. You draw your knees to your chest, shifting on the cold, quilt-covered bed you sit on. For a moment, your heart hammers against your chest, though the feeling quickly fades as the door opens, revealing your two rescuers – Tommy and Maria, you remember.

A strange man stands behind them, his jaw set.

His hair is dark, bursts of grey accentuating each gentle wave. His face is lined with age and scars, and for a moment, a look of sympathy flashes in his dark eyes. You grit your teeth.

You don’t want sympathy.

“Hey,” Maria smiles, warmly. She approaches you slowly, as if you’re a wounded animal. “Still doing okay in here? Are the quilts warm?”

You nod your head, slowly, though your eyes never leave the man behind them. His eyes are set on you, as well, taking you in. His gaze studies you, traveling down from your long, wild locks, to the slightly worn white dress that hugs the soft curve of your body. You draw your knees up further.

“Yes,” you reply, finally, your voice guarded. “Who is he?”

“This is Joel,” Tommy begins, his own rough voice a bit softer. “My older brother. He’s an old man, but he helps us hunt and fix up things ‘round here.”

You watched the older man — Joel, presumably — scoff.

This seems to make you perk up, like a dog hearing its name being called.

“Hunt?” You mumble, your voice low.

Joel takes the opportunity to speak, stepping forward. His shoulder brushes against Tommy’s.

“That’s right,” he replies, glancing down at you. Now that he’s closer, you can make out each line on his face, each dip and scar. He’s handsome, but you’re not about to tell him that. Not when you haven’t properly assessed whether he’s a threat or not.

Joel, on the other hand, isn’t afraid of you at all. Pretty girl, he thinks. No way she’s a threat.

He kneels down, as if to make himself appear less threatening. “I hear you’re quite the hunter.” He muses, head tilted to the side.

You lean up, suddenly interested.

“I am.” You reply, your tone sharp as a dagger.

Joel cracks a grin at this, his dark eyes flashing with recognition. Perhaps he’s known someone like you before, or perhaps your blunt demeanor is familiar to him. Maybe he even finds it endearing.

After a moment of quiet contemplation, he stands fully.

“I’ll keep an eye on ‘er for a couple weeks,” Joel muses, his gaze flickering between Tommy and Maria. He straightens himself, keeping his demeanor neutral, though the glint of amusement in his eyes is clear.

He turns his gaze towards you then, addressing you properly. “I might be able to handle you, darlin’. Maybe.”

The nickname makes the gears in your head grind.

You can’t remember the last time anyone called you that, or treated you like anything but a monster. You’d been living on your own for a while, settled safely in the woods, where no sickness could reach you.

Most would deem you practically feral – but Joel doesn’t seem to mind.

In fact, you almost seem to amuse him.

After a moment, you huff, leaning back to rest your head against the wall behind you. The air between you suddenly feels much warmer, in a way that you don’t entirely comprehend. Maria offers you a smile, and for the first time since you were rescued, you don’t scowl.

As day turns to night, the three leave you, allowing you to rest in your quarters for the remainder of the night. Decompression time is crucial, you hear Maria say through the door, as if you’re some kind of animal.

But she isn’t exactly wrong.

The thick, quilted comforter, adorned with dark red and navy blue thread, is a stark contrast to the cold ground you’d slept on just days prior. A heated fan blows a steady wave of hot air towards you, defrosting the chill in your bones.

You focus on one spot – a small hole in the wall, where just enough moonlight pours through the open window to illuminate it. For a moment, the warmth of the bedroom and the quilt gathered around your waist feels entirely unfamiliar, but pleasant. As your eyelids grow heavy, you mentally curse yourself.

You’re determined to stay awake, afraid of allowing sleep to consume you in such a vulnerable state. You blink a few times, before slowly drifting off, your chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

The sound of a firm knock at the door jolts you awake. Knuckles rap against the hard wood as you lean up, brushing your wild hair from your eyes.

Before you really have a chance to respond, the door slowly creaks open. Standing on the other side is Joel, his hair lightly dusted over with white snow. You turn your back, glancing out the window to see a thick blanket of snow, covering the ground.

“C’mon, doll,” he calls from the doorway. “Get up. I’m takin’ you out.”

“Where?” You rasp, your voice hoarse from sleep.

“Woods,” he replies, tugging a small, black bag up over his shoulder. “Hurry up. You’ve got about ten minutes.”

With the closing of the door, you slowly lean up, kicking the thick quilt away from your body. The air is much crisper than it was the night before, the heater having kicked off after a few hours. You blink the exhaustion away, standing on two shaky legs.

The air outside is no different from inside. Cold nips at your cheeks as you follow Joel into the woods, the ground covered with a thick layer of white snow. Donning a thick, navy blue sweater, one that Maria had dug out of the pile of old supplies in the shed, your torso feels much warmer than your cheeks and neck. Still, you’re without a coat.

Joel seems particularly prepared for the weather, however, wearing a thick brown coat, his gloved hands clutching the bag at his side. His gaze flickers towards you, concerned, as he watches you shiver.

“Cold?” He asks.

“No,” you reply quickly, shaking your head. “Not at all. M’good.”

There’s a heavy silence between the two of you, before he stops in his tracks. He shrugs off his heavy coat, tugging it down his arms, before he hands it to you.

“Here,” his voice rumbles. “Take it.”

The action stuns you into silence for a moment. You know that to argue would be meaningless. Joel is the kind of man who can’t be reasoned with when he sets his mind to something, and he’s insistent on giving you his coat.

“Go on, then. Ain’t gonna hurt you.” He mumbles, drawing your attention again.

Reluctantly, your hand reaches out, accepting the thick coat. As you shrug it on, comfort filters through you. It’s still warm from his body, blanketing you in the same warmth. You sigh, your eyes fluttering shut with relief.

You open them to see Joel fumbling with the bag at his side.

“What’s in the bag?” You mumble, steadying your steps to catch up with him as he begins to walk again.

“Ammo,” he replies, glancing down at you. “You ever shot a gun?”

You’re quick to shake your head.

“No,” you mumble, under your breath, as the snow crunches beneath your boots. They’re ridiculously oversized, but enough to keep your feet warm. “I was never taught.”

“Figured,” Joel replies. “Tommy said he caught you killin’ a rabbit with your bare hands.”

You wince at his words. You don’t enjoy the memory of your hands, covered in blood – but it was what you had to do to survive. It was all you’d ever been taught.

“I had to feed myself.” You hiss, defensively. Joel is quick to shake his head.

“I’m not criticizin’ you, doll. We’ve all done our fair share of shit we ain’t proud of,” he says, eyes flashing with regret. “At least yours was necessary.”

As the two of you cross over the treeline, the forest is calm. Your chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, your mind racing with memories. This land is familiar to you, you know it like the back of your hand.

“Maria wants a couple of bucks, if we can manage that.” He mutters, tugging his pack from his shoulder.

“The bones of deer are useful,” you reply, your voice hushed. “Do you save them?”

“Useful for what, exactly?” Joel asks, pausing as he quietly pulls down the zipper of the bag. His dark eyes meet yours, curious and wary.

“To give back to the forest,” you rasp, voice hoarse from the cold. “For the land’s protection.”

Joel pauses, brows furrowed. He shakes his head then, a heavy sigh escaping him.

“You’re a strange little lady, y’know that?” He mumbles, tugging out the case of bullets from his pack. He pauses then, leaning back up to meet your gaze. It’s almost like he can sense your sincerity, that this truly matters to you.

For a moment, he gives his full attention to you.

“You really believe in that stuff?” He asks, concerned.

Your brows twitch with uncertainty. Of course he’s skeptical. He’s never had any reason to question it before.

“I was raised to believe it. I’ve lived on my own for years, in the woods, entirely unscathed,” you reply softly, meeting his gaze with a similar intensity. “You tell me if the forest has failed me yet.”

Joel’s expression softens then, quiet contemplation settling over him. As skeptical as he is, he knows you raise a good point. A young woman, living on her own in the woods, amidst the threat of an apocalypse – it almost seems impossible. Yet here you are, unharmed and unscathed. He clears his throat, fingers gripping the case of bullets.

“Yeah,” he replies finally, his voice rough. “Reckon you’re right, darlin’. C’mon.”

By the time the two of you leave the forest, Joel is hauling a buck over his shoulder. It’s not very large, but more than enough to feed the community, especially combined with the slew of rabbits in your hands. You glance down at them, your lip twitching in disgust.

“I hate guns,” you hiss, under your breath. “There’s something unnatural about them.”

Everything you say seems to make Joel question himself. He straightens his posture, grunting as he hoists the deer further up his shoulder.

“They make killin’ easy,” he replies, turning his cheek to meet your gaze. “Don’t ya think?”

“Killing shouldn’t be easy. Killing should be hard. No person should be able to take a life in two seconds.” You reply, your eyes meeting his. The cold has nipped your face red, your lips slightly chapped and flushed.

Joel frowns, his eyes studying you. For a moment, he’s taken aback by you. The words that spill from your lips are entirely unexpected from a young woman who’s been fending for herself for years, alone in the wilderness. He expects you to be much more cynical, much more willing to do whatever it takes to survive.

He doesn’t expect you to make him question things.

And for a moment, he almost finds himself wanting to be a gentler man. Almost.

“Yeah,” he grunts, his voice low. “You did good, though. You’re a pretty damn good hunter, considerin’ everything."

Hearing praise from Joel is entirely unfamiliar, but it makes your chest feel warm. You glance down at the rabbits in your hands, recalling the way you’d been able to trap them with ease. It was a skill you’d learned long ago, one that still proves to be incredibly effective.

Steady Hands

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

a joel miller/f! reader fanfic!

summary: when you contact a contacting company for help fixing up your father’s run-down apartment, the miller brothers show up.

warnings! age gap relationship. two consenting adults! 20s & 50s. implied abuse. mentions of abuse. mentions of alcohol and substance abuse. daddy issues. joel calls the reader ‘kid’ occasionally. implied plus size reader.

author’s note! this is the first joel fic i’ve ever written & posted. lemme know if you enjoyed it & wanna see more! ALSO, this is just part 1 ! i plan to continue it w/ a part 2 soon !

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

“I’ll have the repairs done in a few weeks. Tommy’ll come by later with the quote.”

The contractor’s voice was rough, lingering in the cold air between you and your father. You’d been standing by the staircase for an hour now, observing, watching him try his best to appear sober.

He wasn’t.

You could smell the lingering scent of liquor on your father’s breath, the same cheap, cinnamon whiskey that he hid behind the milk jug in the fridge, hoping that you wouldn’t notice it when you visited. You always did.

Your father nodded his head, leaning up to steady himself back against the wall. You watched as he attempted to maintain the conversation, and you weren’t entirely sure if the contractor was aware of your father’s drunken state. He was stone-faced, brows furrowed, fingers clutching the handle of his toolbox – but he’d been like that since he’d arrived. He’d observed the wrecked apartment in silence, not overly thrilled to interact, though it wasn’t like you’d really tried.

You’d kept to yourself for the most part, lingering by the staircase, or watching through one of the open windows. You were only here for a few hours, just to pay the contractors and ensure that they did the right work on your father’s run-down apartment. It wasn’t like you could trust him to manage things himself. He could barely stand at this point, still reeling from reaching the bottom of the bottle just a few minutes before Miller had shown up.

The apartment was in a state of near ruin. Floorboards creaked, wires askew, holes in nearly every wall, damaged from the impact of glass bottles. After your mother left him, he’d let himself go to shit, and his living space was no exception.

Now, it was your responsibility to keep him in check.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried. You’d begged him countless times to seek help, to visit a recovery center and detox. His love for liquor far outweighed his love for you, though that was nothing new. It had been this way for as long as you could remember. You still weren’t entirely sure why you stuck around.

“You can bill me,” you mumbled, after a moment of quiet contemplation. It was the first time you’d really spoken to the contractor since he’d arrived. “I’m the one paying for the services.”

His gaze flickered to you as you spoke, brows furrowed as he took you in. You watched his jaw tighten, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d irritated him.

“Alright,” he rasped, after a moment. “If you’ll follow me outside, miss, I’ll get your info.”

You nodded your head, taking a step forward as you ignored your father’s drunken, meaningless ‘thank you’ behind you. You kept quiet, letting the screen door slam shut as you followed the contractor out into the winter air, the cold nipping at your cheeks.

As you followed him, your gaze lingered on the back of his shirt. It was a deep brown, adorned with beige lettering, which read: “Miller Bros. Contracting: Joel & Tommy Miller.”

For a moment, you felt bold – bolder than you typically were.

“Are you Tommy or Joel?” You asked, hands shoved into the pockets of your slightly oversized coat.

The contractor stopped in his tracks, glancing over his shoulder at you. The grey in his dark hair was far more visible in the natural light, the short waves a bit disheveled from work.

“‘Scuse me?” He rasped, raising a brow at you.

“Which one are you?” You asked him again, simply. The contractor paused, a look of amusement sweeping over his tired features.

“Joel,” he replied, turning his shoulders to fully face you. “Tommy’s my brother.”

You nodded your head, unsure what to say now that he was looking directly at you.

Joel examined you for a moment, his tense features softening for a moment. A look of amusement flashed in his dark eyes, though it quickly shifted into rough concern as he contemplated your situation.

“You’re really payin’ for this?” He asked. “It ain’t gonna be cheap. Your daddy’s house is a wreck.”

“Yeah,” you replied, straightening your posture. “Yeah, I’m paying for it. Dad doesn’t have the money to, anyway.”

Joel studied you for a moment, his shoulders tensing. “I don’t know what it’s gonna cost exactly,” he muttered. “But you’re lookin’ at a bill of about $700.”

“Seven-hundred?” You echoed, eyes wide. Your heart sank at the number, your fingers flexing subconsciously in the pockets of your coat. That number was more than you had in your savings and cash combined right now. For a moment, you swore you felt dizzy.

Joel stood before you, a bit awkwardly, as he watched your cheeks flush with frustration. He could see the way your hands had clenched into fists, beneath the fabric of your coat.

“I– I’m in college, Joel – or, Mr. Miller,” you corrected yourself quickly. “Seriously. I’m about to graduate. I don’t have that kind of money right now. I can’t even afford to move out.”

He was silent as he watched you, and you refused to look up at him. If you saw a pair of judgmental eyes staring back at you, you were certain the tears welling up in your eyes would spill over. You couldn’t risk it.

“No little girl should be payin’ her daddy’s bills,” Joel replied, drawing your attention back to him. “Ain’t right.”

You sniffled, your hands trembling. “I’m a grown woman. I have a job. I can pay it eventually, I just need some time–”

“No,” Joel mumbled, with a wave of his hand. “Doesn’t matter how much money you have. Doesn’t change the fact that it’s not right.”

Unsure what to say, you stood before him, silent. You watched as he dug into the pocket of his jeans, digging out a little notepad. Plucking his pen from his shirt pocket, he began to scribble on the small slip of paper.

“Here,” he mumbled. “When Tommy comes by, you give him this. Tell him Joel said he was gonna take care of it.”

Your eyes went wide, mouth agape. “Seriously?” You glanced down at the little piece of paper in his hand, finding yourself unable to reach out and take it. You weren’t used to handouts like this, and you were entirely unsure how to accept the help.

“Go on,” Joel spoke, his voice softer now, like you were a wounded, stray animal. “You can take it.”

With hesitant movement, you reached out, fingers trembling as they wrapped around the small slip of paper. He gave a nod, as if reassuring you, watching as you slid it into your coat pocket.

“Good,” Joel replied. “I’ll send Tommy by later, then.”

You watched as he turned towards his truck, taking large, heavy steps as the wind nipped at the exposed skin of his arms. For a moment, you were utterly dumbfounded, unable to speak. Before he could get too far away from you, you finally opened your mouth.

“Um,” you mumbled. “Thank you!” You called after him, though it was already too late. He’d already turned the key in the ignition, the truck roaring to life as it started up.

With that, he was off, leaving you with an unfamiliar warmth in your chest.

The next few days passed quickly, and you found yourself frequently thinking about Joel. On your way to class, you found yourself listening to a few of the songs you’d found on the old CDs in his truck. When you weren’t listening to music that reminded you of him, you were thinking about him — the old scars that covered his forearms, from years of fights and handiwork, to his dark eyes that seemed to soften as he looked at you, whether he realized it or not.

His brother – Tommy, you remembered – had dropped by later that evening to hand over the bill, just as expected.

You recalled the words he’d said, brows furrowed in confusion as he read over the small slip of paper Joel had requested you give to him.

“You’re kiddin’ me,” he’d mumbled. “Doesn’t sound like Joel at all. He must’ve really liked you, kid.” Tommy had mused, glancing up from the paper.

“I don’t think it’s that,” you’d replied, your voice soft. “I barely spoke to him. I think he just… pitied me.” You’d mumbled, under your breath.

“Pity or not, you got a helluva deal out of us,” Tommy had shrugged, folding up the paper to slip it back into his pocket. “One of us will get in contact with you soon about the repairs. You live here?”

“Yeah. I mean, kinda. Do I need to be here?” You’d replied.

“We just like to work in the presence of whoever’s payin’,” he’d mumbled. “Keeps things clean. Nobody can come back and say we didn’t actually do our job.”

“Makes sense,” you’d replied, your voice a bit softer. “I’ll… I’ll make sure I’m here, then.”

That was what brought you here, sitting on the steps, as Joel replaced a few loose boards on the back deck. You watched as he worked, wiping the sweat from his forehead. His muscles strained against his shoulders and back, fingers clutching the tool in his hand — one you were entirely unfamiliar with.

“Do you like what you do?” You asked, after a long period of watching him in silence.

Joel glanced up at you, raising a brow.

“I reckon,” he mumbled roughly, leaning back to take a break from tightening screws for a moment. “You’re a strange little lady, y’know that?”

“Strange?” You tilted your head to the side, curiously.

“Yeah,” he replied, roughly. “Strange.”

“How so?” You asked, leaning forward to rest your cheek in your palm.

You’d heard it before, the word “strange” used to describe you. You were quiet, often kept to yourself, and rarely spoke unless it was expected of you. It was a defense mechanism you’d developed over the years, though in the presence of Joel, you began to feel a little more bold. You weren’t frightened of him like you were with most men his age.

In fact, you’d grown to enjoy pestering him while he worked.

Joel hummed, leaning back to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Just never met anyone like ya, kid,” he mused, his brows furrowing as he examined the wooden boards of the staircase, still a bit loose. “Dammit. That screw should’a been enough to tighten that.”

You leaned over then, watching as Joel leaned back to stretch. His muscles strained against the fabric of his t-shirt – not too toned, just enough to showcase his strength. Being an older man who earned his muscles through hard labor rather than weight-lifting, his strength was clear, but his muscles were never very defined.

Blinking a few times, you sat up straighter.

“Do I have to sit here and watch you the entire time?” You asked, recalling Tommy’s statement. “Tommy said—”

“No. And I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” he mumbled, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Your lil eyes on me are makin’ me nervous.”

You managed a snort of amusement. “Little? Y’know, I’m twenty-one years old,” you replied, swinging your legs as you sat atop the railing of the staircase. “I’m a grown woman.”

“Maybe,” he half-grinned. “But I’m an old man, sweetheart. You’re young to me.”

“I don’t think you’re that old,” you offered, tilting your head to the side. “I think you’re just… experienced.”

Joel shook his head. “Experienced, huh?” He mused. “Wow. Really flattering me now, darlin’.” He replied, voice dripping with sarcasm and amusement.

“I wouldn’t lie.” You replied, glancing up to meet his gaze. His brows twitched, as if forcing himself not to look down at you.

“Uh-huh,” Joel replied, trying to keep himself in check. His chest was growing tight, cheeks slightly flushed beneath the scars and lines on his face. “Make yourself useful and hand me that wrench, will ya?”

“Mhhm.” You mumbled, reaching over to dig the long, golden wrench out of his toolbox, slightly rusted with age. You slid it over, before hopping up onto the railing of the staircase, glancing down at him with interest.

As days passed, you began to look forward to Joel’s visits. He’d arrive at the house methodically, taking advantage of every moment your father left for work. He swore it was for efficiency, but you began to question if he simply just wanted to be alone with you, without the interruption of your father’s presence.

One evening, as dark grey clouds rolled in the sky overhead, Joel was finishing up a few last-minute renovations on your father’s back deck. You emerged from the back door, pitcher in hand as the wind played at your hair.

“Tea?” You offered, your voice warm.

Joel leaned up, raising a brow.

“Sweet?” He grunted, hands on his hips.

“Of course it’s sweet,” you smiled, hopping down from the back porch to approach him. “Who do you think I am?”

“Atta girl,” he mumbled, reaching out gratefully as you poured him a glass. “Thanks, doll.”

“Doll?” You echoed, glancing up to meet his gaze.

“Yeah. Pretty like a doll. Might as well call ya one.” Joel mumbled, taking a sip of the sweet tea in his glass. It was cold, soothing the back of his parched throat as he gulped it down.

“You think I’m pretty?” You asked, a bit stunned by the confession. He gave you a sideways glance, as if he hadn’t expected you to be so uncertain.

“Surprised by that?” Joel asked, raising a brow. “Figured you heard that often enough for it to be no big deal.”

Your heart stuttered forward in your chest. You’d heard it a few times, of course, but never in the way that Joel had said it. He spoke like you were a prized possession, something beautiful and rare.

Before you could come up with a response, he spoke again. “You make damn good tea.”

“Do I?” You replied, perking up a bit. Praise from Joel was the greatest feeling in the world.

“Mhm,” Joel hummed, his gaze absentmindedly traveling to the heap of wood lying on the grass beside him. “Might have to hire you to stand in my kitchen and make tea for me all day.”

You leaned forward then, resting your hands on the edge of the railing. “You wouldn’t have to pay me. I’d do it for free.” You hummed, almost proudly. Your reaction drew a deep, rough chuckle from Joel.

As his gaze trailed up the backside of your father’s house – still incredibly worn-down and neglected – his expression sobered. There had been a few thoughts on his mind lately that troubled him, particularly involving you and your father’s relationship. Something about it didn’t sit right with him.

“Hey, kid,” he mumbled, his gaze shifting back towards you after a moment. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

You nodded your head, silently giving Joel your full attention.

“Your… father,” He mumbled, saying the word hesitantly. “When he leaves during the day, where the hell is he goin’?”

“Work,” you replied, absentmindedly fidgeting with a loose thread on your dress. “He works at a factory in the city. I’m not really sure what he does there.”

“And what happens when he gets home?” Joel pressed, his voice a bit lower. “You’ve never let me stick around long enough to find out.”

“You know what happens,” you replied sharply, your voice a bit harsher than intended. “He starts drinking the moment he gets home. It’s just not something I really want you to deal with. I only stick around to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.”

“That’s not your job. Your old man should be able to fend for himself,” Joel replied, brows furrowed. It clearly troubled him. “And I don’t think you’re bein’ completely honest with me, doll.”

His concern, although appreciated, was sending waves of anxiety through you. It was as if your brain was on fire, unable to process the feeling of being truly cared for. You found yourself snapping before you could stop yourself.

“Goddamn, Joel, can you back off?” You hissed, before you could stop it. “I’m a grown woman. I can handle things myself.”

“Can you?” Joel replied immediately, his tone stern. He took a step towards you, his gaze narrowing as he took you in. “What the hell is that on your arm?”

You froze, immediately straightening your posture. Your eyes went wide as you realized that Joel had seen it, the large, round bruise on your forearm, angry and purple. The bruise was still fresh, and Joel could tell. You reflexively tugged your sleeve down.

Before you could think of an excuse, Joel was already speaking again.

“Don’t lie to me,” he prompted. “Show me your arm.”

“Like hell,” you muttered, your hand resting over your arm protectively. “I don’t need you doting on me. I’m fine.”

Joel took another step towards you. He looked angry, but his anger clearly wasn’t directed at you. You knew that Joel would never hurt you, even if he was angry. It was a feeling you weren’t used to, not having to be defensive.

Looking into Joel’s eyes, dark with concern and anger, you began to feel like a young girl again. Your chest grew tight, and you suddenly found that you’d do anything to make Joel proud of you again. You didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his disappointed gaze.

Glancing down, you finally gave in.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, your voice gentle now. “Sorry, Joel. I didn’t mean to snap…”

“Hey,” he rasped, his calloused fingers finding your chin, gently guiding your gaze up to look at him. “Listen to me, doll. I don’t want you hangin’ around this house anymore when I’m not here. I know it ain’t really my place to give you orders like that, but… I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt by your old man.” He mumbled, his voice firm, though it still held a gentleness that was reserved for you.

“What am I supposed to do when you’re not here, then? I sleep here every night. I’m not exactly in any position to get my own place…” You trailed off, your head reeling. If you had the ability, you would’ve moved out long ago.

Joel’s expression shifted, brows furrowed.

“Then you call me,” he muttered. “Next time your old man acts up, you call me, and I’ll be here in minutes. Understand me?”

You straightened your posture then. No man had ever spoken to you in such a way, requesting obedience but also truly concerned for you. You found yourself not entirely hating it, despite your earlier protests that you didn’t need it.

“I understand.” You mumbled, under your breath.

“Atta girl,” Joel replied, digging into the pocket of his brown jacket. He fished out a small slip of paper, tugging the pen from behind his ear to begin scribbling on it. “You have my number, don’t ya?”

“What is this?” You asked, curiously accepting the little slip of paper as it was handed to you.

“My home address,” Joel explained, tucking the pen back behind his ear. “You show up there if I don’t answer, you hear me? If you need me and I’m not there, you can sneak in the window.”

Your eyes went wide. There was something genuine in the way he looked at you, with concern and no hint of malice. He was extending a lifeline to you when you needed it, and though you were unsure how to accept it, you attempted to do your best.

“Okay,” you rasped, finally, pocketing the small note. “Thank you.”

An unfamiliar warmth spread through your chest, a feeling you’d never felt before. Receiving such care from a man Joel’s age, who wanted to help you rather than hurt you, was utterly foreign to you.

As he packed his tools and hauled them into his truck that night, you found yourself watching from the window, gaze fixed on the way his shirt strained against his muscles as he slammed the door of the truck bed shut. Your heart raced, pounding desperately in your chest, as if trying to break its way out to get to him.